


in my condition love's the best physician

by aniloquent



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Science, Tony Has Issues, and being gay, it combines my two favorite things, pharmacy AU, russian bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2018-11-07 15:37:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11061990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aniloquent/pseuds/aniloquent
Summary: “This situation is a little more delicate because I don't even know if he speaks English and I'm tired of going down to the pharmacy for constipation medication and allergy pills when I haven't sneezed since 1941.” Steve shouts.The room falls silent, and he turns back around to find four pairs of stunned eyes watching him.Tony, as always, speaks first. “He?”-Or the one where Bucky is a hot pharmacist and Steve keeps making up bullshit reasons to go see him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HEY GUYS LONG TIME NO SEE! I decided to try my hand at writing Stucly for a little while and I sort of like it! This like my first time publishing anything for this particular fandom and this is also posted at 2:30 in the fucking morning because I'm tired of it sitting in my fucking drafts. Hopefully you enjoy it as much as I did writing it, I don't own anyone in this story blah blah blah, the usual. 
> 
> Thanks for reading :)

Steve thinks he’s probably the only person ever to read the terms and conditions of anything.

Steve also thinks he’s probably the only person ever to actually _appreciate_ the terms and conditions of anything, too.

At least with terms and conditions, he knows what he’s getting himself into, and he can fully consent to going forward with his actions. 

He wishes he could have read the terms and conditions of becoming a super soldier, too. It would have been nice to know that erections are unprompted and seemingly ever-lasting, he’ll never be delicate with glass again (sorry Pepper), and if he starts sweating he won’t stop. Multiple towels will be needed.

Most importantly, though, Steve wishes he would have known the complexities of physical pain as it pertains to his condition. 

Which is a fancy way of saying that Steve knows things hurt when he gets hurt, but the serum makes it go away.

When the serum doesn't work, though, it hurts like a _bitch_.

He’s shifting uncomfortably in his plastic chair as he numbly listens to Fury debrief them on the intel recovered during their latest mission, which entailed fighting another set of intergalactic robots in the west African desert.

Steve is a fucking dumbass, he thinks as he barely registers Tony’s wisecracks, Natasha’s brooding, Clint’s childishness, and Bruce’s always-present survivor’s guilt during the meeting. He needs to stop throwing himself on imploding enemy ships for the sake of heroism. There wasn't even anyone around, and it wasn't worth getting thrown sixty feet into the air and landing in a tree.

Another sharp pain shoots through his head as one of Clint’s shiny arm bands catch the light. He buries his head in his hands. _Definitely_ not worth it.

Steve doesn't hear Fury leave, doesn't listen to his fifteenth speech on how superhumans can't just go around misusing their powers, blah blah. He's in too much pain to even care or fight back.

 As soon as Fury dramatically slams the door behind him, Tony jumps up, still half in his suit, and clears the board of notes to start in on random math equations that make Steve’s head hurt even more. He’s talking a mile a minute to Bruce about some science thing and Steve couldn't care _less_.

 “Did you hear me, Steve?” Natasha says, and Steve looks up to see her eyeing him from across the conference room table. He shakes his head, and she frowns. “I asked what you thought about linking this base to the one last month in Damascus.” He shrugs because that hurts the least.

 “What's wrong, Rogers? Did you think about all the old ladies you didn't help across the street while we were away?”

 He offers Tony a half-hearted middle finger. “I'm in so much pain right now, it's not even funny.”

 Clint raises a bloody hand. “I second that.”

 Tony grunts. “Sadly, everyone’s favorite buff, blond hottie isn't here to save us from our ailing troubles. Woe is I.” Tony glances at Steve, as if just remembering Steve is both buff and blond. “Sorry Steve, but you know Thor has my heart.”

 Natasha rolls her eyes. Bruce sighs.

 Steve winces as Tony excitedly slams his hand against the long, oak table in the briefing room. “Come on, Capsicle,” he chirps, too cheery for someone who got punted to the other side of a small African country not long ago. Steve scowls. “Let's go get you some real drugs.”

-

“So, you just have an entire pharmacy on standby at all times?” Steve asks, a bit incredulous. He thinks he's been out of the ice long enough to not ask stupid questions, but Stark was still stupendous, even in modern times.

Tony gives him the best side eye he can, only part of his flat expression exposed by the removed faceplate from his uniform. He jabs at an elevator button before walking onto the quick-approaching car, all in one motion. Steve follows.

“Not all of us have regenerative tissue, Rogers,” he says. Steve narrows his eyes. “Getting 16 tons of alien metal to the gut still hurts like a bitch, even in this.” He motions down to his battered suit, which was quickly folding into a pocket-sized square, leaving Tony in his usual faded band tee and sweatpants. “After Ultron, I got a little tired of requiring top military clearance for the world’s strongest painkillers. Easier to have ‘em next door.”

Steve blinks at Tony as their elevator descends into the basement levels (as if one basement wasn’t sufficient enough). “And all of that is legal? I thought it took ages to get access to drugs that powerful.”

Tony grins boyishly at him as the elevator doors open mutely. “Pepper Potts is a highly effective catalyst, Capsicle.”

Steve rolls his eyes as he follows Tony to a brightly lit counter on the other side of the floor. He can see endless bottles and cases full of all different types of medicine and salves. There’s a team of about ten labcoats milling about the pharmacy, tapping away on StarkPads, creating small explosions at a lab bench, and pouring copious amounts of coffee into frighteningly large mugs.

That’s when it hits Steve. He does a few quick calculations and checks Tony’s signature world clocks on the wall. “Tony, it’s 2:17 in the _morning_. Why are they here?”

Tony waves a hand dismissively as they approach the counter. “I told them that we’d be doing a mission and to expect me back late. You’d be surprised how well people respond to sports cars and free rent. Besides, this is my younger pharma team. They’re like little Energizer Bunnies, it’s cute.”

Steve looks doubtfully from the person sleeping on the counter with their head buried in their arms to Tony, who doesn’t even look the least bit sheepish. He wraps the counter obnoxiously close to the guy’s head, and his eyes fly open abruptly. He flutters long eyelashes and electric blue eyes dart around in confusion before settling on Tony. They narrow. “Stark,” he says with a slight drag on the r, pushing feathery brown hair out of his face.

Steve feels his mouth go dry.

Tony smiles brightly. “Barnes! My favorite ex-Russian spy doctor! How are you, dollface?”

Barnes stares at Tony evenly, face blank. “Tired,” he sighs, stretching with catlike grace.

“And still a ball of sunshine. Steve, this is Dr. James Barnes, best of the medicinally gifted in both the northern and eastern hemispheres. Specializes in myology, study of muscles. His smouldering pouts and gifted hands are a breath of fresh air.” Steve feels his face get hot as a small smile tugs at the corner of Barnes’ lips.

He speaks in rapid Russian to Tony, who nods along earnestly. Steve raises an eyebrow. He isn’t too surprised that Tony can understand James. He had made plenty of trips there before, both on diplomatic and illegal terms.

 But his jaw drops when Tony starts rattling long names of medicine off, and James nods tiredly, sliding Tony a notepad before disappearing to the back.

Steve looked between them disbelievingly, because what the _hell?_ He waits politely until James is out of sight and hopefully out of earshot. before nudging Tony slightly, who acknowledges him with a grunt, pen cap between his lips as he scribbles down something. “You know Russian?”

Tony scoffs as he embellishes the _s_ on his surname. “God, no. Not enough to be able to understand Moscow’s Next Top Model, anyways. Dialect is such a bitch.” He turns his head to the side and taps a small, black earpiece, one that Steve hadn’t seen in the elevator. “With these babies, I can pick up almost any language on the planet and have it translated into English. His is in Russian.” Tony watches Steve closely for a second, and Steve punched Hitler in the _face_ , dammit, so why is he fidgeting under Tony’s gaze? “Why? Trying to make a move? You should ask Natasha for some Communist dirty talk pointers.” Steve rolls his eyes, turning a shy grin away from Tony as James approaches the counter again. 

“Steve! I’m being so rude,” Tony admonishes himself, clapping a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I didn’t introduce you to James properly. Dr. Barnes, this is Captain Steve Rogers, walking second amendment. Isn’t he cute?”

If James hears Tony’s last remark, he doesn’t show it. He nods at Steve, a lock of hair falling into his eyes. Steve wants to sketch him. “Captain Rogers,” he quips respectfully, tongue catching on the r’s again, and oh yes, this is _definitely_ going into what Clint referred to as his “spank bank” for later.

Steve smiles his “A Bullet in the Barrel of Your Best Guy’s Gun” smile. “You can call me Steve, Dr. Barnes. The title is for formalities.” He ignores Tony’s snorting beside him.

“Steve,” he says lightly, eyes prying. Steve fidgets and suddenly becomes very aware of how banged up he must look. He raises his eyebrows before speaking to Steve in Russian. Steve looks at Tony helplessly, and finds him slightly amused by the entire thing.

“Steve here doesn’t have a StarkTooth,” Tony cuts in, and Bucky’s eyes never leave Steve’s as he nods understandingly. “I can just tell you what’s wrong. Steve?”

Steve loses his words for a second. Tony elbows him. “Oh, uh, my back is killing me and my head is pounding.”

James frowns, long eyelashes kissing the tops of high cheekbones as he looks Steve over. He can't stop fidgeting. “No serum?” He says in a thick accent. Steve gulps.

Tony cuts in, thank god. “Yeah, but this battle was particularly epic. Cap needs some good old fashioned new age Western medicine to help expedite the expedient healing process.”

Bucky nods understandingly. Steve can’t stop staring.

“Also, Barnes, Stevie here is a bit of a newbie when it comes to medicine. Could you help us out?”

“Age?” Bucky asks tiredly. He glances up at Steve from his newly-obtained clipboard, and it takes a moment for Steve’s brain to reconnect to his mouth.

“Oh, um, 27? I think? Technically 97?” James regards him coolly.

“27 is good.”

 “Yeah, sorry.” Steve ignores Tony’s shoulders shaking beside him, vowing to “accidentally” spill a cup of water on one of his precious Armani suits later. He knows where he keeps them.

They tango like that for six or seven more questions, James shooting them at him with a terse fluidity that Steve can't exactly call unfriendly. Maybe just tired. Or the usual reaction that almost anyone has to Tony’s presence.

Steve’s fingers are itching for his pencil so bad, itching to capture the way that James’ eyelashes fan out prettily right under his brow as he looks between Steve and his notes. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone this beautiful before.

 Although Steve’s bread and butter is drawing, he finds a certain musicality in James’ voice. The English is broken and a little choppy, but the gravelly lilt of his accent is like music to his ears. Bashfully, Steve stands there and watches James’ pink lips move, wonders how he looks and sounds during…

“Sex?”

 “I - what?” Tony snorts.

“Your sexual history, Cap.” Tony clarifies, grinning.

Steve feels himself go pink. “Uh-”

“Last thirty days? Yes? No?” James presses innocently, eyebrows drawn.

Steve rubs the back of his neck. “No.”

James nods, either missing Steve’s freak out altogether or being polite enough to ignore it, and pushes himself off the counter. He smooths out his jacket and glances at Steve. “I’ll be back with prescription.”

Steve nods dumbly. “Right.”

Tony snickers as James disappears among shelves of pills, salves, and medicines. Steve scowls at him. “You’re such a gentleman, Steve. A girl would be really lucky to sleep with you knowing you would keep a secret from 1937.”

Steve opens his mouth, ready to correct Tony and tell him that girls were fine, but he would also keep another man’s secrets just the same, but James returns. He presses a small orange bottle into Steve’s hands. “Take one with meal twice a day, yes?” Steve nods. James hasn’t completely let go of the bottle, and his fingertips feel cool to Steve’s blazing palm.

Tony claps, and they jump apart. “Dr. Barnes, you’re the man. I love you, you’re a gem, but we have to be getting upstairs to finish up our superhero bullshit. Isn’t that right, Steve?” Steve silently watches James awkwardly step away, nodding. He’s smiling a little.

“Right. Have a good evening, Mr. Stark,” James says, that same crooked smile on his face. He flits his eyes to Steve, and if Steve didn’t know any better, he would think that James was looking at him from under his lashes.

As if they were flirting.

 “Steve.”

 Tony and James say it at the same time, and Steve is a little speechless. He throws up an awkward wave as Tony nudges him towards the elevator.

“Funny,” Tony says, glancing back at the pharmacy as they approach the elevator. “I’m never had to tell them my sexual history.”

Steve freezes, and then quickly tries to recover. He shrugs. “Yeah, well yours is easy, dontcha think?”

Tony looks at him inquiringly. Steve beams at him.

“Just looking at the tabloids Pepper has stashed away in multiple files at her office upstairs.”

Tony scoffs and gives Steve the finger. He laughs.

 And when Tony changes the conversation to something else, really only talking for himself, Steve tries not to let his brain drift back to the crooked grin on James’ face.

-

Steve tiredly watches another flock of flying robots whirl past him. They're in Ceuta this time, raiding another H.Y.D.R.A. base. Instead of finding headquarters intel, though, they wake up another fucking annoying nest of alien robot bullshit fuckers, and they’re here doing dirty work.

Steve is having a bit of trouble finding the fucking _point_ of all the bullshit he's enduring right now. He rips off a robot’s bullet-shooting arm, trying to keep himself from having a tantrum.

He watches Natasha crush a metal skull between her thighs and land on her feet elegantly. One of Clint’s specialty arrows soars by and sticks to the one of the offender’s chest. A little buzzer goes off, and an explosion sends shrapnel everywhere.

Steve thinks. There was certainly no reason for four of them to be here. Natasha and Clint could have done just fine annihilating this base without leaving a mark. Hell, a lower level agent could have done this. Bitterly, Steve muses at Fury sending them all out, making multiple camps across the world into punching bags just to throw S.H.I.E.L.D.’s weight around a bit. It was exhausting being an attack dog all the time.

He winces as Natasha goes in for another Undertaker move, misjudging the aviation skills of another bot. The thing glitches for a bit and jerks, throwing her six feet to the ground. Hard. He watches her land on her back and starts to move towards her.

Then the robot’s center dents with a bullet from her gun. Steve watches her jump back to her feet and fight a little harder, more embarrassed than hurt.

He sighs with relief, and then tenses with anger. One of them could seriously get hurt.

He takes out another one of the seemingly endless flocks of robots before he can string together another thought that didn't _punch, kick, kill, repeat_.

Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to flop every once in awhile, a part of his brain thinks guiltily. You could go on rest for a couple days, or even weeks, explore the city. No one would have to know. You get a break and they learn how to function without always hitting the Captain America button.

Yeah, a more logical thought interrupts, but imagine the panic. If you got hurt, the media, the doctors, and _Fury_ would have a fucking cow, buddy. You're Captain America, you can't just _get_ hurt.

Bullshit, the first one says, and Steve pulls his punches a little bit. He finds himself alone, without Tony, Clint, or Natasha in his sight, and he watches another swarm of robots pick on him from about 70 feet away. He watches them approach idly, readjusting his shield.

Steve getting hurt would not be the end of the goddamn world, he reasons, especially with medicine today and a large line of superhumans ready to step in and take his place. He snorts. The 21st century seems to have its fair share of those.

Besides, it's not like he didn't have a pair of beautiful blue eyes back in New York waiting to fix him up at home.

Huh?

Steve flinches when the bot blasts into pieces, still transfixed (and ashamed) of his last thought. He turns his head to find Tony looking down at him incredulously.

“Rogers, are you trying to get killed? I know you have that whole martyr complex, but be careful for Christ’s sake.” He propels himself away to meet a particularly scrappy alien halfway in the air, and Steve watches for a second before getting to his feet.

He punches and dodges and kicks distractedly, replaying what just happened in his head. Had he really just put himself in the line of danger on purpose? And for what?

Blue eyes and long lashes flash across his mind for a brief moment.

Frustratedly, Steve delivers a hard punch to another robot. 

He can’t let himself believe that he would be that stupid. It isn’t like him to jeopardize missions because of what’s going on in his personal life.

If he could even call this a personal situation, he thinks bitterly, cracking the shield over a bot’s head.

Steve huffs out a sigh and fights harder. He would like to think that he’s too damn old to be doing what he thinks he’s doing. He shouldn’t be trying to hurt himself just so that he had an excuse to go back to Tony’ pharmacy.

The very idea brings heat to his cheeks.

He is an _adult_ , dammit, and this is the twenty-first century. If he fancies someone, he can go up to them and get to know them himself without some sort of strange, immature reason.

Besides, he’s Captain America.

- 

“Oh my god, you’re Captain America!” Steve rubs at the back of his neck coyly as he watches the intern in front of him freak out. This never gets easier. “Mr. Stark always talks about you when he comes down here, but _you've_ never come down here yourself!”

The kid is visibly _vibrating_ , and Steve is struggling for words. It's disarming.

His heart stutters a little at a much more upbeat James Barnes slinking from a back room somewhere, more awake but just as weary as when Steve last saw him. The intern jumps at James’ abrupt squeeze of his shoulder.

Steve watches at he murmurs in the boy’s ear. The intern visibly deflates and glances at Steve shyly before fixing his state on the floor. “Sorry for, uh, overwhelming you, Captain Rogers,”

Steve smiles reassuringly. “It’s fine, kid, don’t worry about it.”

James shoos the kid away, muttering Russian lowly. The kid stammers some back, casting one more glance over their shoulder before shuffling to the back of the pharmacy. He faces Steve, blue eyes apologetic. “Kids,” he says shrugging one shoulder. “Sorry.”

Steve tries to scoff playfully, which ends up coming out more as a sputtering cough. James’ eyebrows knit together in concern. He opens his mouth to ask a question, and Steve can tell he’s about to ask if he’s alright, which would be more embarrassing than about fucking _anything_ , so Steve quickly forces a loud, awkward laugh. James shuts his mouth, blinking in surprise.

“It’s fine, it’s fine. It happens all the time.” James raises his eyebrows. Steve realizes he sounds like an asshole. _Shit_. “Uh, but it, um, never gets easier?” James is still staring at him. “I’m sort of shy. It’s strange when people come up to me and, like, recite the pledge or ask to feel my pecs, or my arms or something.”

James nods, and Steve shuffles as his gaze sweeps down to his biceps, crossed in front of his chest. “Arms. Yes.”

“Arms, yeah,” Steve says, and holds James stare as his eyes travel back up to his face. _Christ_.

They stand like that for God knows how long, looking at each other. James breaks the hold. He clears his throat and adjusts his lab coat, patting around for a pen. “So, problem?”

Steve flounders. Before he can explain himself, explain how he would like to get to know James better if he was willing to put up with the bullshit that comes with courting a national icon, his ass speaks first. “I, uh, sneezes.” 

James blinks. “Sneeze?”

Steve nods reluctantly, cursing inwardly. “Yeah, uh, we were in, like, Northern Africa for a little bit and I got sand everywhere.” He smiles sheepishly. James doesn't look convinced. 

“So irritation? Or allergies?” He asks anyway.

 _Bullshit_ , Steve thinks, and then shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine, doc.” 

James looks at him a little bit longer, boredly, probably wondering if Steve things he’s really that dumb, then gives. “Blood test for allergies then.”

“What?”

The intern from earlier pops back up. “We can conduct a blood test that determines what you might be allergic to, and then prescribe you accordingly. I’m not really sure how it’s supposed to work on you, Captain Rogers, if I’m being completely honest. I mean, I’ve read your files. Your antibodies have a ready response for just every type of pathogen. It’s highly unlikely for you to be allergic to-” The intern looks sheepishly between the dirty looks both Steve and James are giving them. “Anything,” they finish weakly, and slink out of sight. 

James turns back to Steve. His face is unreadable. “Hand.”

Steve sticks his hand out in shame. He keeps waiting for James to tell him to get lost, tell him that he’s full of shit and it’s creepy that he would come down here and waste his time fucking around.

Instead, James holds his hand still and pricks his finger with a sharp tool. Steve jumps more out of surprise than pain. James smiles wickedly. “Hurts?” 

Steve feels his pants get tight, and shoves down the thought of pleasurable pain for a later internet search. At night. By himself. “Nah, I was just surprised is all.”

James nods, unconvinced, and conceals Steve’s sample. “Right. A minute.”

He watches James walk away, an inviting bump curving beneath the bottom of his lab coat, before dropping his head on the counter.

What in the hell was wrong with him? Why was it so hard to talk to this guy? 

Because he’s intelligent and poised and graceful with gorgeous eyes and kissable lips, his brain supplies.

Steve shrugs. Good point.

But still, Steve is trying his hardest to be charming dammit, and it wasn’t getting him anywhere, not as far as he could tell. James is a fucking brick wall. Steve can’t tell if he was about to jump his bones or beat his ass. Absently, he thinks of Natasha. She was just as cold, but she wasn’t really as mean as she seemed. Was it a Russian thing? 

Wait, was that racist? Steve frowns.

Aren’t Russians white? His frown deepens.

Can’t that still be racist? Wait.

Fuck, anyways.

Steve felt a sudden wave of tremendous guilt wash over him. He’s faking symptoms he won’t ever have again in his life. James has an actual job to do, and here Steve is, distracting him from ending cancer or whatever the fuck they do down here and being annoying.

And he hasn’t even gotten his fucking number, which is what he came down here for in the first goddamn fucking place.

He mopes and thinks about how much of a piece of shit he is.

He doesn’t have any more time to feel sorry for himself because suddenly James is coming back and sliding yet another pill bottle across the counter. He laughs quietly. 

Steve watches him carefully. “What?” 

“Nothing,” James smiles knowingly. “Just that you haven’t sneezed once since you’ve been down here.” 

Shit.

 _Fucking_ shit.

Steve drops his head and mumbles a quick thanks before hightailing away from the pharmacy.

- 

It’s going to happen, Steve tells himself a week later as he marches into the elevator. He jabs a button.

Today is the day, he thinks, straightening out his clothes and running his hand through his hair in a brief moment of vanity.

You’re going to ask James out and he’s going to say yes and Tony is going to be fucking annoying about this, he affirms, walking confidently towards the counter. James is talking to a bunch of other labcoats. He stops as he sees Steve approaching.

“Captain,” James says respectfully, and Steve feels five or six pairs of eyes taking him apart. His confidence shatters.

“Dr. Barnes,” he chokes out, and then clears his throat. And wrings his hands. And checks his watch.

The silence is getting unbearable now, and a short blonde scientist starts to shuffle uncomfortably. Steve gulps.

James, thankfully, picks up on this. He slinks up to the counter and beckons Steve to come closer. His feet work before his brain does.

“Everything alright?” James asks worriedly, and Steve wants to sigh at how concerned he sounds. “They can leave for confidentiality.” Blue eyes are searching him worriedly. 

“No! I don’t want to disturb you. It’s just…” Steve can’t do this. James would never say yes. “I… shit.”

James frowns. “Sorry?”

Steve panics. “Uh-”

“Shit?” And _fuck_ even the way he curses is pretty. “Constipation?”

Steve has two options here. He could save himself any more embarrassment and speed walk his nervous ass right back up to his floor and never come down here again, isolating himself from the closest he’s felt to affection in seventy years.

Or,

He could be even _more_ of a fucking idiot and actually go along with the lie that he actually came down here in search of a remedy for constipation of epic proportions, grossing James out beyond belief and setting him back twelve steps in his two-step plan.

Steve doesn’t have time to mull the options over before he hears himself saying, “Yeah, sorry,”

James barely reacts, and he brushes hurriedly past the group of confused labcoats to grab a small, orange bottle off of a shelf. Steve has a string of curse words flying through his brain. 

James returns, shoulders hunched in secrecy as he slides the bottle over to Steve, who takes it numbly. “I understand this is embarrassing,” he talks lowly, and Steve can’t do anything but nod along dumbly. “I can contact you later with further instructions. Take this twice a day before meals.” Steve jumps as James’ cold, thin fingers press a crumpled piece of paper into his palm. “This is my Stark line. Please ask with questions.” 

“I will,” Steve says weakly. “Uh, thank you, Dr. Barnes.”

He nods curtly and turns to the labcoats again, leaving Steve to sulk back upstairs. 

-

Steve finds James himself working the counter when he returns to the pharmacy again. He watches James’ brow furrow as he scribbles something down on a clipboard. Left-handed. Steve can't even explain to himself why he makes a mental note of that.

He’s watching a piece of feathery brown hair dangle from James’ forehead when he finally speaks. James glances up at Steve, blue eyes too quick to be readable, and back down at his writing. “Something funny, captain?”

Steve doesn't notice the dopey smile on his face until he brushes his fingers along his lips. He hopes he's not blushing. “Uh, no, sorry. Are you busy right now?”

James motions down to the clipboard, eyeing it accusingly. “Trying to come up with new medicine is not always easy. What's wrong?”

Steve has a request for dinner and a movie on the tip of his tongue, he _swears_ he does, but he just. _Can't_ get the words out of his mouth.  

His shoulders sag, and James seems clueless to the internal meltdown he just had. “It's my back.” James raises his eyebrows for an explanation. “It's been, uh, aching? Since our mission last week, and it's making it hard to run or train.”

James nods, biting his lip pensively, and Steve doesn't think he’s ever seen anything more beautiful. “Where was mission?”

“Uh, Lagos, Nigeria.” Steve watches James flip to another sheet of paper on the clipboard, offensive medical formula long forgotten.

“Same answers like last time?” Steve nods. James offers him a sly grin. “Even sex?”

Steve’s eyes widen as he nods slowly. James blinks innocently. “Just checking.”

Steve adjusts his pants and tries his hardest not to think about hearing the word “sex” fall out of James’ smiling mouth. “Appreciate it.”

“Serum doesn't work?”

“It does, but…” Steve struggles for words at he tracks James’ tongue trailing along the bow of his upper lip. “Sometimes medicine makes the pain heal faster. The serum can only do so much.”

James snorts. “You must hurt a lot then. Always down here.”

Steve shrugs, watching James push himself off the counter to pluck an orange bottle off the shelf. “It's sort of my job.”

James scrunches his nose. Steve wants to kiss him. “Sucks.”

Steve nods. “You’re telling me. And I don’t even get to have sex while I’m doing it.”

James gives him what Steve thinks is an amused smile before shooing him away with a bottle of fancy-sounding painkillers.

-

Steve finds Bruce and Natasha reading books on the lounge room couch, ignoring the X-Box FIFA tournament turned wrestling match between Tony and Clint when he gets back upstairs.

Perfect. Steve thinks that he can use all the advice he can get for this one.

“Uh, guys?” Steve watches three pairs of eyes and one semi interested eyebrow flicker up at him. “I need some help.”

A beat of silence passes before Tony wriggles to dislodge a hand from under Clint’s thigh and wave it at Steve impatiently. “Uh, Rogers? Are you waiting for retirement?”

Steve shoots Tony a look before continuing. “I’m trying to figure out whether or not I should ask someone out on a date.” He winces through the guffaws and catcalling. “But I can’t tell if the feelings are reciprocated or not.”

“Are you or are you not Captain America?” Clint accuses, letting Tony gain the upperhand in their scuffle. He snorts. “There isn’t a single girl that would turn you down, dude.”

Steve frowns. He never said there was a _girl._ He opens his mouth to correct him, but Bruce beats him to it.

“You know how Steve is. He would never play the ‘national icon’ card to get her to go out with him. He’s too much of a gentleman.”

 _Who’s into other gentlemen_ , Steve thinks, helplessly watching the conversation lose control of its original subject.

“You know,” Tony starts, and Steve runs an impatient hand over his face at the tone of his voice. “I think we’re focusing on the wrong thing here. Of course Steve won’t have any trouble with the date.” He grins conspiratorially at the rest of them, ignoring varying levels of exasperation and disappointment. “He needs a lesson on what happens _after_ the date.”

Steve hadn’t even thought about that. He feels his face heat up and turn even hotter as Tony and Clint start to tease him.

“Steve, did they have condoms back then?” Tony guffaws at Clint’s question. Bruce frowns. Natasha sighs, and turns a page in her book without looking up. “It’s best if you pick up some before the date. You certainly don’t have the schedule for some baby Captain America’s right now. Do you want kids ever?”

Steve blinks, overwhelmed, and Tony cuts in again. “I’m not really sure when you would ever have time to even pick up condoms. We’re always so busy. I can send someone to get you some, but you would have to know what size you were, and there’s not exacting a dressing room for that . Besides, that’s too easy of a tabloid story.” Tony pauses, and then studies Steve closer. “So, did the serum make… _everything_ bigger?”  

Steve buries his face in his hands at Clint lets out a whoop. “That wasn’t a no, Rogers!”

Bruce, sweet Bruce, tries to amend the situation. “Steve, there’s nothing wrong with having sex and getting to know a women intimately in a more casual setting, especially in your particular, uh, situation.”

“My ‘situation’?” Steve frowns. “What is that supposed to -” He freezes, jaw dropping. “You all don’t really believe I’m still a virgin, do you?”

Natasha snorts as Bruce pales. “But, the files-”

“Didn’t account for my adventurous teenage years, trust me.” Clint is wiping tears from his eyes, clutching his stomach and laughing hysterically as Tony stares at him in shock.

“JARVIS, please tell me you got that buddy,” he pleads, hopping off the ground and running to the room’s control board. Steve groans as he hears his own voice repeat his last sentence ten. Times. In. A. Row.

Bruce is apologizing repeatedly and Tony and Clint keep shooting off rapid-fire questions about his first time and Steve should have honestly seen this coming.

“Was it in a speak-easy?”

“How many were there?”

“How ‘adventurous’ are we talking here?”

Steve grits his teeth and turns his back on his friends, trying to gather his thoughts. He had come up here for some simple advice and now he was getting interrogated on which poodle skirt his hand ended up under (and honestly, Tony?).

“This situation is a little more delicate because I don't even know if he speaks English and I'm tired of going down to the pharmacy for constipation medication and allergy pills when I haven't sneezed since 1941.” He finally shouts over the teasing and beckoning.

The room falls silent, and Steve turns back around to find four pairs of stunned eyes watching him.

Tony, as always, speaks first. “ _He_?”

Steve crosses his arms defensively. “Is that a problem?”

Bruce rushes to amend the tension. “Of course not, it’s just-”

“The comics, movies, documentaries, and Lego-sets failed to mention you were…uh…” Clint glances at Natasha helplessly.

“Gay?” She offers, and Steve shakes his head.

“Bisexual is the term you're all using now, right?”

“Bisexual.” Tony’s voice is uncharacteristically calm. “Right.”

Clint stands up and moves toward Steve, clapping him on the shoulder. “Well congrats, dude,” he says brightly, and Steve can't help but grin. “Your options literally just doubled.”

“What's this guy’s name?” Tony says, pacing around the room. “I'm going to do a background check and then a background check on the background check so we can make sure no player is trying to break Capsicle’s pure, little heart.”

Steve looks around sheepishly as Clint, Natasha, and Bruce all agree. “Uh, James Barnes? From the pharmacy downstairs?”

Steve feels himself heat up _again_ from the catcalls and whistles.

“He's cute!” Clint chirps.

“And doesn't have an extensive criminal record,” Tony adds, more to himself than to Steve. 

“And Russian? Steve definitely has a thing for the foreign ones.” Natasha muses. She goes back to her book before Steve can ask her what she means.

Clint laughs, and he embraces Steve. “Dating other dudes is easy, man. They're direct.” Steve raises his eyebrows, and Clint’s look is telling him to interpret that however he wants. “Just go down there, ask him what he's doing Saturday night, and make your move. Easy.”

Bruce smiles encouragingly. “Anybody would be lucky to have you, Steve, I don't think you have anything to worry about. Besides, he can pick up English later.”

Steve sighs in relief. He finally got the response he wanted. “Thanks, guys. I needed that.”

“Now if this Hallmark moment is over,” Tony says, walking over to where Steve and Clint are standing. “We need to talk about sex. Specifically, gay sex.”

Steve frowns.

-

James glances up before returning to his ever-present clipboard as he sees Steve approaching. “Captain Rogers,” he greets, and Steve wills himself not to lose focus of the situation at hand. “Here to refill something?”

“No reason this time. I was just wondering if you were interested in going to dinner with me sometime.”

James stops in his tracks completely, and his head shoots up to meet Steve with frightened, icy eyes.

Steve’s mouth goes dry. James is still frozen, and he's looking at Steve with more panic than he can handle right now.

“I just thought…” And _dammit_ , James is still looking at him with wide eyes, mouth slightly parted. “Well, uh, sorry,” Steve stammers, and power walks back to the elevator. He can feel his face on fire, and he winces as the glass elevator buttons shatter under his clumsy fingers.  

He can still feel James’ stare on him, icy and imploring, and he wills the doors to close faster. Steve slouches against the wall momentarily before sliding into a huddle with his head in his hands.

 _Fuck_.

- 

It happens exactly how Steve didn’t want it to:

He’s somewhere in the Middle East, and they’ve just raided another H.Y.D.R.A. base. Although he would never admit it, Steve is still reeling from the other day. He just can’t get James’ face out of his _head_. He looked so shocked and scared and yep, Steve is definitely _never_ putting himself out there again.

(He’s getting so fucking tired of these damn robots - can’t the author think of anything else for them to fight even though the fighting scenes are mainly filler passages? He can only rip off so many ambiguously-described robot arms.)

He watches a particularly aggressive machine push Natasha around and knock her flat on her back. Steve reacts more out of aggravation than anger when he gets a running start to tackle the robot away from the redhead.

The thing panics and shoots thirty, fifty, seventy feet into the air. Steve keeps hacking and punching blindly while the robot withers between his thighs.

The robot finally goes limp in his legs and - oh shit. 

Steve is falling. And he’s falling fast. The metal is exploding next to his body.

He can’t hear Tony’s shouting or Clint’s cursing or Bruce’s shriek of rage because he’s too busy bracing himself for what’s sure to be a hellish landing.

Steve bitterly thinks of long eyelashes and blue irises as the world goes black.

-

Steve doesn’t wake up until the team is back in New York. He’s supposedly cleared, but the doctor still prescribes him level 5 painkillers.

Which he has to go pick up.

From the Stark Pharmacy.

The ride down to the pharmacy is a lot quieter with Natasha than with Tony. Steve doesn’t know if that’s a good or bad thing.

She’s on the other side of the car, arms crossed and eyes distantly glaring past him. He doesn’t bother trying to explain himself.

“We may be from two different periods of time from two completely different countries,” she says, and Steve can almost feel her words sting. “But I feel like ‘don’t tackle an alien robot soldier engulfed in flames while falling from fifteen stories’ is a bit of an age-old mantra, no?”

Steve sighs as the elevator dings, and slumps reluctantly towards the pharmacy.

As they approach the counter, Steve can’t help but think of the difference between Captain America and Steve Rogers. While both were impulsive and fearless, Steve suspects that Captain America wouldn't have as nearly as hard a time in this situation as Steve would. He wishes he could always be Captain America.

James and Steve are silent as they watch each other before looking away.

Natasha glances between the two of them with a small frown. She meets Steve’s shameful eyes for a second before he turns away, hoping she didn't pick up on anything.

The wish is hollow.

She nudges Steve, keeping eye contact with him while speaking to James in fast, controlled Russian.

Steve darts his eyes to James, watching his eyes go wide and his cheeks turn pink as he responds to Natasha. She grunts noncommittally, and James stammers some more.

He hangs his head and mutters lowly, but Natasha scrambles to look at him. She snaps at him to, Steve presumes, repeat what he said. James mumbles his sheepish phrase again. James sneaks a glance at Steve, icy blue and terrified, before forcing his stare down to his shoes again.

Steve looks at Natasha incredulously, eyes widened. “Are you _threatening_ him?”

She gives Steve a patronizing side-eye. “I’m helping you out, actually.” And that shuts Steve up. He watches helplessly as James and Natasha exchange a few more words, James getting pinker and more sheepish as the conversation continues. Steve feels ready to scream by the time the redhead addresses him in English again.

“Well, this is interesting,” Natasha drawls, sizing James up as he picks at an imaginary string on his lab coat. Steve raises his eyebrows impatiently. A corner of Natasha’s mouth turns up as she looks between the two men. “I think this is all a huge misunderstanding, and you two need to be reintroduced.” 

Steve blinks.

Natasha turns fully to James, gesturing to Steve. “James, this is Steve Rogers. Bisexual, ninety years old, and surprisingly nice for someone who bashes robots for a living. Sweet guy.” Steve doesn't know how to interpret James’ head shooting up to Natasha’s casual outing. He holds shocked eye contact with Steve for the longest since their exchange started.

“And Steve, this is Dr. James Barnes, who is actually fluent in English without his Starktooth.” Steve sputters in shock, throwing his hands up. Why didn't he ever _say_ anything? “He also prefers the nickname Bucky - always has since he became a U.S. citizen and changed his name to James Buchanan.” James - Bucky nods along, watching Steve carefully.

“Nice to meet you, Bucky,” Steve says, and meets Bucky halfway for a firm handshake. Bucky’s cheeks turn dusty pink.

“He's also very gay,” Steve freezes. “and very shy, and has a tendency to lose his proficiency in English when in the presence of national icons that he finds attractive.”

Steve is at a loss for words. Bucky’s let go of his hand and is worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, trying to gauge Steve’s reaction. Steve knows that he should probably fix his face into one of more acceptance and invitation, but he just really can't believe this is happening.

Then, Bucky opens his mouth.

“You took me by surprise when you came down here the other day, you know,” Bucky says, and grins crookedly, accent still as strong as ever. “I wasn't expecting you to be attracted to men, and much less be attracted to _me_.”

Steve shrugs. “It's something they chose to leave out of the history books, I guess.” Natasha snorts. “Besides, you’ve got to be kidding me! You're gorgeous.”

Bucky smiles brightly through rapidly reddening cheeks, and Steve really doesn't think he's seen anything more endearing.

Natasha glances between the two men boredly. “Looks like my work here is done. Have fun, be safe, use a condom,” she says, and stalks off towards the elevator. 

Neither Steve nor Bucky notice her go.  

As Steve stands there, he makes a few mental notes. Natasha is a fantastic wingman. Or wingwoman, maybe. Clint also sucks at advice, but Tony sucks more at explaining gay sex. Bruce is going to love having someone else to geek out with, and sometimes, tackling robots on fire may be worth it.

And most importantly, his back still hurts.

“We might have to postpone that date.” Bucky frowns. “I’m in arguably the worst pain of my life right now, and I’m technically supposed to be in bed having only liquids right now.” Steve childishly holds out his doctor’s note to Bucky. He bites back a smile as their fingers brush. 

Bucky hums as he steps around the pharmacy to gather Steve’s prescription. “I’m sure we could work something out, no?” He shoots Steve a loaded look. “You might need a house visit.”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “My apartment is the twenty-third floor.”

Bucky nods as he comes from behind the counter. He’s tall, barely has to look up to Steve, and even prettier up close. He bumps Steve’s shoulder with his, five different prescription bottles between long fingers. “It might be best if I come with you to monitor you up-close, yes?”

Steve grins. “Doctor’s orders.”


	2. put your loving hand out, baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Steve…” he pleads.
> 
> Steve shakes his head. “Do you want me to stop?” He says lowly, hoping Natasha can't hear him. There's no response from the phone.
> 
> Bucky hesitates, then slowly shakes his head, making sheepish eye contact with Steve.
> 
> God.
> 
> -
> 
> Or the one where Steve is a man on a mission, and nothing can stop him. Not even a phone call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the long-awaited nsfw add-on for this AU. Enjoy!

“Steve,” Bucky sighs. Steve grunts back, not bothering to lift his head from between the other man's thighs. 

He pushes his tongue past the tight ring of muscle in Bucky’s hole, and mentally high-fives himself as Bucky curses lowly in Russian and writhes away from the sensation. Steve traps Bucky’s restless hips in his hands and pins him to the bed, and the brunet pants from above him.

“Steve,” Bucky grunts again, and he threads his hands in Steve’s hair, tugging slightly. Steve moans. He licks a fat stripe across Bucky’s entrance and starts to tongue fuck him again.

Bucky fucking  _ whines _ , and rolls his hips under Steve’s fingers.

“That’s right, baby,” Steve murmurs, and presses a kiss to each of Bucky’s thighs. He gets a strangled whimper in response, and Bucky tries to bring his knees together above Steve’s head. He catches the movement and gently pries his boyfriend’s thighs apart. He returns his hands to his vice-like grip on Bucky’s hips. “Let me hear you.”

“Your phone,” Bucky pants, and Steve pauses for a second before continuing to eat him out. Whatever works for him, he guesses. But Bucky’s persistent. “Steve, it’s your phone.”

And finally, Steve hears it. His phone is buzzing with that annoying pop song Clint programmed into his phone.

He huffs through his nose, barely registering how Bucky shudders at the fast current of warm air on his sensitive body. 

“Ignore it. It can't be that important if they didn't come to my door. We’re in the middle of something.” Steve adds a finger, and Bucky gasps loudly, back arching off of the mattress. 

“Yes, very middle,” Bucky reassures him, and Steve finds it amusingly endearing how his English is starting to break up as he builds up to his orgasm. “But it seems important. It- oh  _ fuck _ , Steve,  _ god _ \- it’s Natasha.”

Steve pauses for a minute, considering his options, before his judgement is shrouded with Bucky’s musky scent again. He adds another finger and pushes himself to his elbows so that he's on his stomach looking at Bucky as he scissors his fingers. “Baby, listen,” and Steve knows he's playing dirty, giving Bucky his most innocent face. 

The brunet above him swears, Russian and loud, and Steve allows himself a smile as he looks at his handiwork: Bucky has also pushed himself off of his back to his elbows, and he's trying to give Steve his most disapproving glare, but it's not working. His pupils are blown and his lips are raw and bitten. His chest is heaving and flushed a rosy pink, and his brown hair is flopped down into his eyes, lazily sticking to his forehead as his body temperature rises. His cock is flush against his belly, red and leaking. He's the most beautiful thing Steve’s ever seen. 

“I'm just trying to make you feel good,” Steve continues, and lets Bucky’s heel draw him closer between his legs. He pushes his fingers deeper, and wills himself not to react as Bucky’s hips jerk. The phone is still ringing. Steve could honestly care less. “That's my main goal right now. And everything else,” he pauses to fuck his fingers into Bucky a few times and watch him cry out, fingers flailing for Steve’s hand. “Can wait. Okay?”

Bucky maybe be on the verge of bliss, but he still looks ready to disagree, just as stubborn as ever. He opens his mouth, most likely to argue, but the line goes dead. 

They stare at each other for a minute. Steve is grinning triumphantly at Bucky, who rolls his eyes and mumbles something along the lines of “shut up and finish what you fucking started, punk.” Steve happily obliges.

Or so he thinks, as the song starts up again. 

Steve sits up this time and wipes his hands on the duvet of the bed, groaning. Bucky shoots him a smug grin. “Told you,” he taunts, way too confident for someone who was getting fingered not five seconds ago. 

Steve wants to wipe the smug look off of his boyfriend’s face as fast as he can, he  _ so _ wants to, but an idea comes to mind. Maybe he could get everyone else and Bucky off of his back. 

Feigning resignation, Steve sits back on his heels, still perched in between Bucky’s legs. “Fine,” he says. “Answer it.”

Bucky’s smirk falters a bit. “It's for you?” He cocks his head to the side, and  _ fuck _ it shouldn't be that cute how his tongue catches on the r. It almost makes Steve feel guilty for what he's about to do. 

Steve shakes his head, dedicated to the plan. “If they want me so bad, they wouldn't mind you answering right?”

Bucky eyes Steve suspiciously, and the phone keeps ringing. Steve shrugs. “We’re gonna miss it again if you don't get it, doll. Just answer it.”

Bucky keeps his eyes on Steve as he slides across the screen. He presses the phone to his ear, exchanging pleasantries with Natasha and casually holding conversation, as if he wasn't inches from coming untouched not too long ago. Steve looks at him incredulously. He pinches Bucky’s ankle, which earns him a performative scowl. 

“Put in on speaker, Buck,” Steve urges, and he complies. 

“Hey, Nat,” Steve calls, and reaches up to pluck the phone out of Bucky’s hand and move it next to his thigh on the edge of the bed. He finally looks down at his own angry erection, which he’s been neglecting in favor of getting Bucky off. Huh. “What's up?”

“Rogers,” she says, silken voice tinny over the tiny phone speaker. “Didn't you ever learn anything from your barber shop quartet about not answering the phone? Bucky was just telling me you didn't want to talk.” He can hear the pout in her voice, and mouths  _ traitor _ at his boyfriend, who shrugs. 

Natasha continues on with her conversation, not waiting for Steve to respond, with something about Hill and Fury and the shitshow that was cleaning up SHIELD. She seems to be talking more to Bucky than to Steve, and pretty soon she's switching to Russian to exchange what Steve guesses are jokes with Bucky, who's enthusiastically responding. Steve reaches for the lube bottle again, opening it as quietly as he can to drown the  _ snick _ of the glass bottle in the discussion. 

Steve holds his breath as he shifts closer to Bucky’s body, but his boyfriend doesn't notice. He seems intent on training steel blue eyes on the phone, as if Natasha is really sitting there. 

Bucky is laughing, hard, and chatting animatedly about something when Steve pads his pointer finger over his hole. 

“FUCK,” Bucky jumps, and his voice cracks. Steve grins. 

“James? Are you okay?” Natasha asks, genuinely worried. Steve pushes one finger in slowly, and finds that Bucky’s still loose from earlier. 

“Uh-huh,” Bucky all but moans through gritted teeth, glaring daggers at Steve. “I'm… I stubbed my toe.”

“Jesus, on what?”

Bucky bites his lip and screws his eyes shut, and the flush is returning to his body. Steve wants to draw him, but settles for adding another finger to piston in and out of him. 

“It-  _ oh _ , uh, hurts a lot,” Bucky tries to grab at the phone, but Steve snatches it, holding it high above his head. Bucky makes an annoyed noise at him. Steve raises an eyebrow. 

“Told you to ignore it.”

“ _ Asshole _ .”

“Yours, specifically, yes.”

“What did you say, Steve?” Natasha questions again. She sounds suspicious. 

Shit. “Uh, nothing, Nat, don't worry about it. I'm trying to help Bucky with his… toe. Yeah. You were saying something about Fury doing that divide and conquer shit?”

Bucky is panting, and Steve honestly doesn't think he can control himself. “Steve…” he pleads.

Steve shakes his head. “Do you want me to stop?” He says lowly, hoping Natasha can't hear him. There's no response from the phone.

Bucky hesitates, then slowly shakes his head, making sheepish eye contact with Steve. 

_ God _ . 

“You love this, don't you?” Steve teases, and his voice has gotten exponentially more raw. “You love the risk, how she could hear you and bust us any minute, huh?”

Bucky doesn't answer because Steve is currently three fingers in, and he's building up a steady rhythm. He's clapped a hand over his own mouth, perhaps to keep from crying out, hips bucking seemingly on their own accord. 

Steve is surprised Bucky’s lasted this long to begin with. They’d tried some slight edging before, but nothing like this. 

Natasha sounds even more suspicious as she continues. “Bucky, you alright?”

“He’s fine,” Steve answers. He places a hand on Bucky’s stomach and speeds up to a torturous pace. Bucky whimpers. Natasha starts to speak again, because she undoubtedly heard that, but Steve cuts her off. Bucky won’t stay quiet for long. “Look, Natasha,” he says, and watches Bucky’s thigh muscles flex beautifully. “I have to go. This looks serious. Bye.” He hangs up before she can protest. 

Bucky nearly shouts as the call ends.

“You were so good, baby. So fucking good for me. You know that?” Suddenly Bucky’s hole is clenching around his fingers like a fucking vice, and he’s coming, loudly and abundantly. Steve just watches, too entranced by the sight in front of him to let up on his fingering. Bucky weakly reaches down to wrap his hand around Steve’s hand after he comes down from his high, and Steve finally gets the point. 

He sits up and smiles at Bucky apologetically. “Sorry. I got distracted.”

Bucky looks at him evenly before flopping his head back on the pillow, stretching out long legs. “Your distraction nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Steve snorts and rolls over to rescue his phone from floor, where it had apparently been kicked. Bucky’s gaze is alternating between Steve and his own phone when he rights himself with an amused smile playing on his lips. Steve raises an eyebrow. Bucky full on laughs.

“What’s so funny?”

Bucky waves his screen at Steve. “It’s Natasha. She said she knew what was happening the entire time.” Steve winces. It seems decidedly less sexy now that the moment has passed. “She says you owe her a bottle of Pyat Ozer to make up for putting her in the middle of your geriatric sex life.”

Steve sighs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate writing smut and it's been the main thing holding up my other projects to be completely honest. I'm working on it, though. Come talk to me on tumblr

**Author's Note:**

> I really want to do a little day in the life type deal for this one? that maybe gets a little nsfw? But I'm not sure yet... I'll see how I feel. Now that I've gotten this out of the way, though, I think my Stucky ideas and prompts are going to be a little better to get through and hopefully I can start posting regularly again. And who knows? I might revisit Larry if I ever get the urge :)
> 
>  
> 
> ALSO, the nosy little intern is names Gale, dedicated to a super smart genderfluid kid in my AP Physics class. They're super smart and love their girlfriend. I live for representation and visiblity of my buddies of any gender or lack thereof.
> 
> I'll see you soon, and if you guys want I can do a little on shot to go along with this. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks so much!
> 
> I’m even more annoying on tumblr


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